Naked Note
by Rubi Reads
Summary: Tyler Hoechlin is Harmony Samuel's new teacher. On the third day of the new school year she has a strange encounter with him on the rooftop. This was also the day she finds a red notebook that seems to hold a mysterious power within its pages. From this day on weird things start happening around Harmony. Who is Tyler really? What does he want from Harmony?


**1: SHADES OF RED**

The rooftop was supposed to be off-limits to students, but the door lock was busted, and I was one of the few who knew it.

That afternoon I was meeting my best friend on the rooftop to smoke. I lingered casually across the hallway from the chained-off stairway, waiting for people to disappear. When the last of them ran down the hall yelling for her friend to wait up, I crossed to the other side and slipped under the chain with the sign that read KEEP OUT.

In my stealthiest footsteps I climbed to the landing. It was dim in these parts. I paused and looked down to check if someone had seen me. No one was there. So I went on up, clutching the thin straps of my tiny leather backpack, which Troy, my best friend, called my Kotex container. According to him, it was impossible to fit anything else in it but one pad of sanitary napkin.

He was wrong, of course. I also had my blue Pall Mall and my glittery pink lighter inside. And they bounced gaily with me as I made my way to the top of the stairs.

The door was metal and painted maroon. It could only be unlocked with a key. I took mine out of my coat pocket—it was a heavy-duty pink paperclip, fashioned to pick this particular lock. I slowly slipped it in as far as it could go, and I felt something jump.

It's that easy. That's how Troy and I knew that this one was busted; with other locks you had to be an expert thief to make your makeshift key work.

The door didn't creak too much, but I was still careful pushing it open; the janitor could be out there, cleaning, or smoking himself. Or Troy could be making fun of me and he's already there unlike what he'd texted earlier. I wouldn't be startled even if he screamed boo at the top of his lungs.

But I _was_ startled.

What I heard through the slightly open door as I peeked out was a soft and long moan, of pleasure, it seemed.

I listened some more. It was a guy's deep and sultry voice. He's making monotonous hums through his nose, ending each release with a throaty exhale.

My breathing hitched. The sound was erotic. It was coming just outside the door, to the left side. I swallowed hard, slowed my breathing, and with a racing heart slipped out to the rooftop through the barely open door.

I don't know why I did it. I guess I just wanted to see who it was. And saw I did.

It was the new teacher Mr. Hoechlin. He was alone.

I was on the brink of swooning. Something warm surged inside me, and for a moment my vision blurred. But I had my feet planted firmly on the floor. And I faced him full on because I was already there. Also, I had to satisfy my curiosity before he noticed me.

He didn't notice me right away, though, because his eyes, those long sexy eyes, were closed. He was leaning on his back against the wall. His head was thrown backward so that he was facing the mellow afternoon sky.

And with his long-fingered hand he was touching himself. No, that's not quite right. He was squeezing, groping, and massaging. Even with his black slacks on, I could see the shape of his raging hardness as clearly as when he had been naked.

He was _not_ naked, but without his jacket on, the contours of his muscular body could hardly be concealed by his white button-down shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, giving me a view of those powerful forearms at work. His other hand, the one not on the crotch, caressed his abdomen, his midriff, his Superman chest, his long, corded neck.

The left hand worked its way up to the luscious red mouth. Mr. Hoechlin slipped a finger in. He kept moaning all the time. Meanwhile, I was transfixed on my spot, gaping, with my throat dry as a desert. I forgot how it was to blink and breathe. I was just watching the show in utter shock and wonder.

My eyes had followed the hand that traveled to the face. I watched my teacher suck his forefinger like a lollipop. I also saw the tears glistening in the cool afternoon light.

I was surprised yet again, perplexed. Shame hit me full force. I felt like a voyeur, because I was. I'd let my curiosity get the best of me.

 _Why is he crying?_

I must have gasped. Mr. Hoechlin was staring at me with his deep, shadowy eyes. But I could tell that he wasn't angry, or even surprised like me, or ashamed. His angular manly face was blank. His mouth was not set tight, just closed and unmoving. There was a drop of shiny spittle on his dark trimmed beard. The tears made his high cheekbones glow. There were no wrinkles on his lofty forehead; his thick eyebrows didn't meet above his straight nose.

He was looking down at me. And I was gazing up at him—no, at his dark wavy hair, actually, and his conspicuous widow's peak; I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes as he closed the gap between us. I was embarrassed and a little scared.

If you thought I'd had the last of my surprises that afternoon, you'd be wrong. This time the feeling nearly made my knees buckle. I got seriously dizzy when this gorgeous man held me in the arms and pulled me close and kissed me long and hard.

I'd had one real boyfriend in my life, last year, when I was fifteen. He was my first kiss. And I'm sad to say my first real kiss was lousy. It wasn't all that different from the sneaky pecks I'd got from my kindergarten sweetheart back in the day.

But Tyler—that's Mr. Hoechlin's first name—showed me what a true kiss was. He was an expert. His lips were so soft and warm, and his tongue had a life of its own. Even the slick sounds coming from our wet lapping mouths were gratifying. I was drowning in pleasure. My hands clung tightly onto his big round buttocks. We were so tightly entwined I felt every part of him—every steamy, fragrant, manly part of him.

His mouth tasted like a rare wine—peculiarly sweet and deeply intoxicating.

I didn't care that he was a decade older, or that he was my teacher, or that he was gay.

He was, though. My classmates and I knew. He'd told us earlier that day, the third in the new school year. He hadn't exactly volunteered the information. One of my classmates had asked bluntly, and he'd given a straight and honest answer. "Mr. Hoechlin, no offense, but are you gay?" "Yes, I _am_ gay, and I'm not offended."

Cassandra, whose high IQ was inversely proportional to her tact, had to ask, perhaps because Mr. Hoechlin was such a beautiful bastard. She'd spoken with her usual innocent curiosity. His tone had been as casual as his countenance. People in my class actually gasped in surprise. I was amused. How the boys must have suffered confused emotions. There were no gay dudes in that class—at least none that I knew of. If it had been another teacher they might have displayed mindless acts of disrespect, but Mr. Hoechlin was taller and fitter than all of them, and smarter, too; he knew English inside out. Apart from all that, he was a nice, charming gentleman all the way. It was easy to forget he'd just told you he was gay. You would even think he could be lying. But of course that would be unfair stereotyping. You don't have to see a man kissing another man to believe he's gay.

And sometimes gay guys kiss girls, too. Was I glad I was the girl Tyler Hoechlin was kissing that tranquil afternoon on the rooftop!

I was glad indeed, and more than that, too. I was ecstatic, in cloud nine, over the moon—at least for about ten seconds. Mr. Hoechlin started becoming frenzied after that. He was now kissing me hastily, like he had to go somewhere. His big, strong hands were on both sides of my face, moving my head this way and that, almost crushing my skull and snapping my neck. He must have thought my face was some sort of food. I was feeling his teeth in my mouth, on my tongue, on my lower lip.

He bit me!

Hurt and scared once more, I pushed him away and almost fell backward. I let out a hacked cry of disgust. The coppery taste of blood was strong in my mouth. Mr. Hoechlin's lips were a brighter shade of red.

"I– I'm sorry, Harmony," he said while moving toward me.

His eyes widened at the sight of what he'd done. He wiped my blood off his face. When he looked at his fingers I saw his neck go rigid. Beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead.

He swayed to one side and leaned against the wall on an extended arm. Blinking hard, he took a few deep breaths. When he seemed to have regained control, he pulled the door open and slowly walked away without looking at me, like he'd forgotten I was there.

I started crying silently when he was gone.

It was my turn to try to calm myself. The air was pure and smelled of pines, and its coolness felt good to my lungs and to my wounded lip.

I kept sucking in fresh air through my mouth until I was myself again.

Shallow wounds in the lining of the mouth healed quickly I didn't worry about my cut.

 _Where the hell is Troy?_

Wiping my tears, I turned away from the cloudless sky and my eyes fell on the empty dimness beyond the open door. Troy wasn't there yet because I hadn't been long at the place. The episode with Mr. Hoechlin couldn't have lasted for more than two minutes, although the experience felt like it had played on for two hours.

I pulled the door without locking it and noticed something on the floor, to my right.

It was a red rectangle that stood out like a bloodstain in the sea of gray concrete. I took the five steps toward it and confirmed that it was a notebook—Mr. Hoechlin's, most likely. I picked it up and studied it.

The thing was the length and width of a regular hardbound novel and about an inch thick, including the stiff covers bound in smooth red cloth. The smell reminded me of the peel-and-sniff ads in my brother's _GQ_ magazines.

Curious yet again, I thumbed through the soft and creamy pages, puffing old perfume on my face in the process, and settled somewhere in the middle. I saw the ink illustration of a cabin in a forest and was impressed by the artistry.

The pages were unlined, but the neat and even script on the next leaf didn't skew. I remember thinking: even his hands are talented.

But then I read two words on the page and realized this wasn't Tyler Hoechlin's notebook. The first line on top went _Dear Tyler_. It was followed by a comma to the right and what seemed like a long letter below. This must be someone's journal addressed to my English teacher.

I picked another random page, and my eyebrows rose to my hairline. It's another impressive drawing—a lifelike, perhaps life-size, image of an erect penis and relaxed testicles filling the entire page from top to bottom. I knew it was the back view of a circumcised male organ because of the details. The artist had rendered it in ink, but every line and every shade spoke I might as well be staring at a photograph. But I wasn't aroused—well, not by much. It was like admiring nude art—you had to appreciate the art part above anything.

For some reason, I knew that those jewels were the likeness of Mr. Hoechlin's. I had to swallow hard before I could breathe again.

Suddenly there was this soft creaking noise from behind me. Closing the notebook, I turned around. Troy's smiling face greeted me. I grinned back and said, "Lock the door." I sounded weird with that throbbing in my mouth.

Troy did as told. He pushed the door to lock.

"What's that behind your back?"

It took me a second to think. "My diary."

"Private?" Troy was sixteen like me, but he hadn't gone through the deepening-of-voice phase among pubescent boys. Perhaps he never would. He claimed to be having monthly periods, though—through his nose. Troy's a funny one, and pretty too—tall, slim, and just the right kind of pale. He was the owner of huge brown eyes on a long, carefree face. Like me, he was sporting a white-and-blue ensemble—the school uniform.

"Well, of course it's private," I answered in mock indignation. I put the red thing in my Kotex container and took out the Pall Mall and the lighter. Troy and I puffed in the corner. The cut inside my lower lip stung a little, but I ignored it.

 _Now what do I do with this notebook?_

Even as I thought that, I knew I was going to read it.


End file.
